


The Lion, The Moose, and The Cookie

by chlochlo



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: High School Teacher AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:05:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlochlo/pseuds/chlochlo
Summary: Scott scoffs, but there’s a twinkle in his eye and a smile tugging on one corner of his lips. “I can operate a smartphone just fine, Ms. Virtue.”Tessa leans forward and places her elbow on her desk. “Oh, really?” she asks, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “Because I seem to recall receiving a certain string of messages that would make your former English teachers sob.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This hopefully-not-too-dreadful piece of writing was written for a dear anon who is getting married to her fellow teacher in a few months time. There was a bit of pressure to make this good -- it is based off of someone else's beautiful love story, after all -- but I had a lot of fun writing it. It's quite different from what I usually write, so I apologize if it isn't so great. I'd like to say a huge thank you to my lovely teacher anon for sharing little snippets of your and your fiancé's relationship with me. I wish you and your partner all of the happiness in the world! <3

He pushes the door open with his shoulder just as the five minute warning bell echoes down the hallway and holds it open as her homeroom students flood into her classroom. Two festive Starbucks cups are seated snuggly in the coffee carrier he is holding in one hand. His other hand is gripping onto a matching pastry bag. 

“Good morning, Mr. Moir,” her students chirp, the greeting directed at the nonchalant man but the knowing smirk the most definitely directed at their flustered homeroom teacher.

“Mornin’ kids,” Scott beams. “That all of you?” He cranes his head to look down the hallway -- left first, then right -- before stepping inside and letting the door close behind him. For a man that has just greeted every single one of the teenagers that are in the room, he seems blissfully unaware of the sixteen pairs of eyes that follow him as he makes his way towards her desk. “Mornin’ Tessa.” 

He drops the pastry bag on top of a stack of freshly printed quizzes. She cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows in a light look of disapproval, to which he simply grins. He sets the coffee carrier down on the student’s desk that she’d dragged and placed next to hers. She had too many desks anyways, and it oftentimes served as a great place to dump ungraded papers. “One cappuccino for you. Swapped out the milk for almond milk, of course,” he winks. 

Tessa actually has turn around and put a binder that she needs for first period back on her shelf to hide the blush that is creeping up on her face. 

Lord, this man is an imbecile. An adorable, incredibly handsome one, but a complete idiot nonetheless. Who wouldn’t think they are more than co-workers when he keeps doing things like _this_? It’s no secret that the faculty members in the Physical Education department, along with those in the Visual & Performing Arts department, are not assigned homeroom students, and it’s common knowledge that P.E. is never a first period class for any student ever. Even if Scott had a reason to turn up on campus an hour and a half early, there’s no reason for him to walk across the football field and walk up six flights of stairs to bring her breakfast every morning and hang out in her classroom till the start of first period. She had, on more than one occasion, heard students whispering about how she and Scott were supposedly secretly dating, and while she’d attribute those sorts of cafeteria gossip to boredom, creativity, and one too many Netflix shows, she can’t quite seem to do so in this instance, because honestly? She’d probably be partaking in those conversations too, if their roles were reversed.

Scott isn’t the type of person that would be bothered by what other people say or think, though, and while Tessa normally would be, she surprisingly doesn’t mind the assumptions people are making on this occasion. Scott’s a nice man, and she enjoys his company a little more than she’d like to admit. Besides, who would say no to a cup of scalding coffee and a hearty breakfast every morning? 

She smiles and raises her cup of coffee. He does the same and the two clinck cups. She leans back in her chair as she lets the warm coffee trickle into her mouth. “How do your parents like Singapore so far?” 

He’d clocked in late yesterday, he’d apologetically told her over lunch, to pick his parents up from the airport. His brothers were going to be travelling over the Christmas holidays, so his parents had opted to do the same. Tessa has only met his parents via Skype on the few times she’s walked into Scott’s office during one of his free periods. It can’t have been more than three times, but apparently three brief glimpses of her face were enough for them to remember her. Scott always returns from his trips back to Canada with a Christmas card and gift from his parents, and last year, which just so happened to be the one year she couldn’t fly back to Canada for the holidays, Tessa awoke to a sheepish e-mail from Scott informing her not to be alarmed if she gets a FedEx package from a certain Alma Moir. 

“They left for Botanic Gardens even before I got out of bed, so I think it’s safe to say that they don’t hate it,” he chuckles. “Mom’s already got the MRT and LRT map installed on her phone. Plans to make full use of the public transportation system here.”

“Sounds like your mom knows how to operate a smartphone better than you do.”

Scott scoffs, but there’s a twinkle in his eye and a smile tugging on one corner of his lips. “I can operate a smartphone just fine, Ms. Virtue.”

Tessa leans forward and places her elbow on her desk. “Oh, really?” she asks, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. “Because I seem to recall receiving a certain string of messages that would make your former English teachers sob.” She takes another sip of coffee, and she is slightly ashamed to admit that she didn’t have to lick her lips afterwards but did so anyways. “There’s something called autocorrect, you know. Might want to enable it. If you know how to, that is.” 

He takes his phone out and turns it over in his hand as he hums in contemplation. “Nah.” He lets his phone drop onto the table and observes his fingers as he leans towards her, just enough for her breath to catch in her throat. “I just have big hands,” he smirks. He then adds on a, “and big fingers,” and well… she’s just glad that he’s got his back turned to her students and she’s seated so that her face is hidden behind the computer.

A couple of her students clear their throats and others have a sudden urge to read their textbooks at eight in the morning. Of course they understood the innuendo. They are seventeen after all. 

Tessa swivels around in her chair and rummages around her desk to look for nothing in particular. “Well, have a nice day, Mr. Moir.”

Scott chuckles. “You too, kiddo.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The only club she is advising this semester is the Debate Club, which means that she has the option of leaving campus at 3 in the afternoon sharp on three out of five school days, if she wants to. She doesn’t take this option unless the day happens to a Friday, though, usually sticking around to organize her desk a bit and use the photocopy machines. Meagan would be appalled at the quantity of handouts Tessa gives out, but she’s found that her students tend to do better when their notes are not sharing the same screen as tumblr. 

Today, however, Tessa is invited to the dress rehearsal of the school’s production of _The Nutcracker_ and agrees to go and watch the first couple of dances, mostly because they have scheduled the rehearsal so that the tiny Kindergarten snowflakes can be dismissed before four.

She could never resist the charms of the little munchkins twirling around in their sparkly white dresses. 

The auditorium is located in the same building as the P.E. Department and she did promise to pass by the dance studios to make sure all of the middle school fairies were dressed and ready to go, so she has to pass by the track on her way back to her classroom anyways. She only meant to wave as she walked by, but Scott is leading the cross country team in a series of warm ups and doesn’t look her way, so she decides to step onto the track and plop herself down on the bench situated by the fence. The track isn’t really a place a Psychology teacher often winds up at, and she does feel a bit out of place--like maybe she should have asked permission before stepping onto the crimson tartan track. 

They’re doing lunges now, and Kaetlyn positively _beams_ at Tessa as she passes by. Tessa waves and does her best to look like she is here for business purposes and not like she swung by to ogle Mr. Moir as he coached. 

“Hi, Ms. Virtue!” Kaetlyn hollers, her lunges headed diagonally for a brief moment. Tessa raises her eyebrows and the girl has the audacity to flash the cheekiest grin before re-adjusting her steps so as to not trample over the freshman next to her. 

Scott’s head snaps sideways, and he almost trips over his own foot as his backwards lunges miss a beat. Kaetlyn cackles and Scott gives her a stern look that exudes amusement more than disapproval. 

“Alright, Cap,” he says, patting Kaetlyn on the back. “Take the lead.” Kaetlyn immediately switches from doing lunges to doing the high-knee run. The other students follow suit, their knees coming up to their chests as they trail behind their team captain. Scott waits until all of them pass him. “Hey, Tess,” he says, walking over to where Tessa is whilst running a hand through his hair. “Thinking of joining the cross country team?”

“Absolutely not,” she shudders. “I can’t run.”

Scott sits down next to her. “Sure you can.”

“Clearly, you haven’t seen me trying to make it back to my classroom after lunch.” 

On most days, she eats lunch with Madison down in the art room. Both have a free period, which means they can beat the cafeteria line and take their time eating and chatting. Time has a tendency to whizz by whenever Tessa has any time to catch her breath, and on most days, it’s not until the bell rings that she realizes that she has to sprint up eight flights of stairs in five minutes. 

There’s a reason she leaves the classroom door unlocked. 

“I’d probably trip over my own foot and fall flat on my face,” she adds. 

Scott throws his head back and laughs like she’s just told the most hilarious joke, even though what she said wasn’t funny at all. There isn’t an ounce of insincerity in it, though, and Tessa wants to bottle it up and store it in her heart for bad days. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he grins. “You can dance, can’t you?”

Tessa rolls her eyes. She’d had the pleasure of handling the ballet portion of the dance summer school, and he’d walked in on her demonstrating a couple of times. He claimed it was an accident -- that he had meant to walk into the adjacent studio where they were conducting a fitness class -- but she’s fairly certain that that statement only held true the first time it happened. Not that she’d minded, of course. Towards the end of the summer, she’d even found herself glancing over at the door on occasion, waiting for him to stroll in, only to comically turn around and walk right back out. “That’s different.” 

“You’re right,” he hums. “Standing on your tiptoes is much harder.” He cracks his water bottle open and gulps down a quarter of its contents down. Really, it’s unfair how attractive he can make it look. “I asked a girl out to prom my senior year of high school. Not because we were dating or anything like that, but because everyone expected me to, including her. I think she regretted hinting at it, though. I stepped on her toes all night long and held her hand too tight one dance and not tight enough the other.” He chuckles, resting his forearms on his thighs and hanging his head. “I’m a hopeless dancer.”

Tessa smoothes out her skirt. “Maybe,” she agrees with a tilt of her head. “Or maybe you have yet to find the right partner to dance with.” His hazel eyes find her green ones. She holds his gaze for a second, basking in the vulnerability and sincerity lingering in it, before pushing herself up and off of the benches. “See you tomorrow, Scott,” she says.

“Bye, Tess.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick Chan broke the Scantron machine while he was grading his AP Calculus students’ tests. There were only, what, twenty multiple choice questions? Couldn’t he have graded them by hand?

This is what she grumbles over and over again as her eyes dart back and forth between the answer key and the Scantron sheet her students submitted earlier that day. It’s making her dizzy, the graphite filled bubbles. She has to close her eyes every so often and think about the wise words of her yoga instructor. What had she said? Put your stresses and worries on a fallen leaf and let it flow downstream? She doesn’t remember, but she does know one thing: She should’ve taken a leaf out of Chiddy’s book and made the test only half as long as the actual AP exam. 

Tessa doesn’t realize how much time has passed until the lights right outside her hallway light up, sending a blinding stream of light into her dim classroom. The school had recently made the decision to switch the classroom lights to motion sensor lights, and while it’s not a problem on most days, it’s terribly inconvenient on days like this when the only living organism in the classroom has to spend hours seated still to grade exam papers. Instead of getting up every 10 minutes, Tessa had switched on the lamp, lit her Yankee Candle, and let the motion sensor lights do their thing. She looks up just as Scott pokes his head into her classroom and, after squinting his eyes to make sure she’s actually there, invites himself in. She changed into more comfortable clothing long ago, her heels are kicked off, and her bun is down low by her shoulder blades. Maybe she should feel a bit self-conscious about it, but she can’t bring herself to care right now. 

“What are you still doing here?” he asks. “It’s past seven.”

Tessa tosses the red pen on her desk and leans back in her chair. Oh, what she would give to be lounging on her couch right now. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Cross country,” he shrugs. “I decided to go for a short jog myself afterwards. I noticed that your lamp was on on my second lap and decided to swing by and see if you were still here.” He perches himself on the corner of her desk. He’s never done it before, but it seems like he’s done it a million times--like he’s right where he belongs. “No offense, but I was hoping you wouldn’t be here.”

“I wish I weren’t here either, so none taken.”

Scott chuckles, but he fails to hide his concern. “Come on,” he says, hopping off of the desk. “Let’s get you home. I’m sure your students won’t mind getting their results back a day or two later than usual. In fact, they’d probably be thrilled if they never got them back.”

A huff of laughter escapes Tessa’s lips. “Probably.” 

Scott blows out the candle and collects the empty packets of trail mix and chocolate. While he slips out to toss the trash in the trash bin, Tessa stashes the Scantron sheets in her drawer and grabs the stack of FRQs instead. 

“Did you drive to work this morning?” he asks when he returns.

She did, and on most days, she would offer him a ride back. But today, she is absolutely exhausted. It would be a disservice to herself, any passengers in her car, and to anyone out on the road if she were to drive back. Besides, Scott takes the public transportation daily, and honestly, she thinks it might be nice, walking to the MRT station with him and keeping him company till he gets off. 

“I did,” she says, “but I think I’ll take the public transportation home tonight.” She grins. “It is Earth Day, after all.” 

To her great surprise and delight, he misses his stop and hops off on hers, claiming his home is an equal distance from this stop and the one before. The streets are bustling with locals and tourists, but he walks her to her apartment anyways. 

“Should’ve known this was where you lived,” he hums once they’ve reached the front gate.. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she laughs, nudging him on the shoulder.

“Well, for one thing, it’s completely white.” He grins proudly when she laughs at that. “But it’s also very modern. Modern and sophisticated and elegant…” He’s no longer staring up at the buildings but is rather staring into her eyes. “Just like you.”

“You should come over sometime,” she breathes. “There’s more to this place than its cold exterior.” His eyes flash at that, and she clears her throat. “Goodnight, Scott. Thank you for walking me back.”

He smiles softly and hands her her folder of FRQs. “Goodnight, Tessa.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t realize you were such an environmentalist,” Gabi teases. Tessa rolls her eyes as she slides Gabi’s bag over on the back seat of the car and places her own right next to it. The two women live in the same apartment complex--Gabi in Block 46A and Tessa in Block 52A--so Gabi only had to wake up maybe three minutes earlier than usual to swing by and pick Tessa up. Tessa had felt bad about asking Gabi anyways, but the smirk that is on the woman’s face dissipates guilt a little bit.

“I was tired. Didn’t feel like driving.”

“You could’ve taken a cab,” she points out. “Sure, the world’s not as safe as it once used to be, but we’re in Singapore. Besides, it’s not like you would’ve been alone.” 

The kids just took their AP Psychology mock exam and Tessa is well aware that her colleagues are piling assignments on their students like their class is the only class the kids take, so she figures it wouldn’t hurt to give them some free time. 

She gives a couple of her students permission to run down to the cafeteria, then opens up her laptop to check her e-mail. She’s gotten two from freshmen that wish to know if she might let them take AP Psychology the upcoming school year. She jots down their names on a sticky note and makes a mental note to speak to their counselor about the matter. A new e-mail arrives in her inbox with a _Ding!_ It’s from Marie, and from the subject, it’s clear that it has to do with the upcoming high school prom. Tessa had volunteered to chaperone the event. She’d thought it was a good idea at the time, but now, with all of these assignments to grade, she’s not so sure. 

Most of the students are chattering or grinning at their computer screens, but Kaetlyn has her Calculus textbook open and her scientific calculator dangerously close to the edge of the table. Her phone is perched on the corner. She’s probably trying to get some homework done before her track meet after school, but from the way she keeps glancing at the screen whenever it lights up and trying to stop herself from smiling by biting her lower lips, Tessa knows Kaetlyn is going to leave the classroom with more unsolved problems than solve ones. Tessa also bets she can guess exactly what--or rather _who_ \--it is that is making the girl giggle every three seconds. Chiddy had been beyond excited to share the surprise promposal that had taken place in his first period class with the entire faculty. 

Kaetlyn glances up, presumably to check the time, but ends up meeting Tessa’s eyes instead. Instead of blushing, however, Kaetlyn smiles, her eyes turning into cute crescent moons. There’s a tinge of mischief in them, which is uncharacteristic of her. Tessa raises her eyebrows, and Kaetlyn giggles some more, this time peeking out the small window on the classroom door. 

As if on cue, the door cracks open and Scott saunters in, balancing a flat box resting on the palm of hand the way a pizzaiolo might bring out the pizza from the kitchen. 

“A little bird told me that you decided not to teach today.” He winks at Kaetlyn and slides the box on top of Tessa’s desk. This time, it’s on top of a battered Barron’s AP Psychology book. That, Tessa doesn’t mind having things placed on. “The little bird also told me that you spent your entire lunch period grading papers and are relying on three teenage musketeers to remember to grab you a granola bar, so I decided to swing by and keep you fed myself.” 

“Did she really?” Tessa says, narrowing her eyes at Kaetlyn. Kaetlyn simply shrugs and looks back down at her textbook. 

“She did,” he confirms. He fidgets with his nails as he steps backwards. His back hits the door. “Well, I’ll leave you to your non-teaching. See you later, T!” 

Cradling the box in her arms, Tessa opens up her mini-fridge and shuffles its contents around to make room for Scott’s surprise. She frowns when it becomes clear that there is no way the flat but large box is not going to fit. 

“You should open it, Ms. Virtue,” Kaetlyn chirps. “Maybe you won’t need to put it in the fridge.” 

A huge blob of sugar is the last thing Tessa would expect a P.E. teacher to give her to eat, but that’s exactly what is encased in the box: a giant chocolate chip cookie cake in the shape of a heart. Red and white frosting is piped around its circumference. The words _Will you be the G.O.A.T. and go to prom with me?_ are written in black. Below them is what she thinks is supposed to be a little goat drawn with icing. 

“It stands for _Greatest of All Time_ ,” Kaetlyn whispers from the front row. Tessa glares at the girl, albeit half-heartedly. Kaetlyn’s mouth quirks, and Tessa absolutely hates that she can't seem to conceal just how giddy she feels right now. “Are you going to say yes?”

Tessa shrugs. She bets Scott has Trennt’s phone in his hand right now, waiting for Kaetlyn to report Tessa’s answer, and well… what’s the fun in that? So instead, Tessa detaches the disposable knife that was attached to the top of the box. 

“Anyone want a slice of cookie?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaetlyn _really_ needs to stop hanging out at the grocery store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! 
> 
> First off, thank you so much for the wonderful comments you guys left in what was supposed to be the first and last chapter of this H.S. Teacher AU. They were an absolute delight to read, and I truly appreciate the time you took to write them! 
> 
> I was planning on this story to be a one-shot, but the whole H.S. AU has been on my mind these past couple of days, so I thought I might add some other one-shots in! This chapter is not a continuation of the previous chapter, but it is set in the same AU. Huge, huge, _huge_ thank yous must be said to the wonderful anons that sent in their funny teacher stories. They were all hilarious, and hopefully, I'll get around to writing the rest of them soon!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this short one-shot!

**_Ms. Virtue, the Psychology Teacher_ **

Kaetlyn runs into Ms. Virtue in the _Fruits & Vegetables_ section of the grocery store, where the teacher is knocking on a cantaloupe and eyeing it like it’ll explode in her face any second now. Apparently not satisfied with the sound she hears, Ms. Virtue takes one step to her right, bends down, and knocks on another, identical-looking cantaloupe.

Kaetlyn can’t help but giggle at the sight. She’s never taken any of Ms. Virtue’s classes before, but she is on the track team and spends a ton of time nestled in the beanbags in Mr. Moir’s classroom, and well… Ms. Virtue is kind of the reason Kaetlyn now has to do her homework in the library.

“Uh, Ms. Virtue?” Kaetlyn starts, swinging her green grocery basket in her hand. She’d arrived about an hour earlier than she’s set to pop over to her friend’s house and figured she might as well pick up some snacks for them to munch on while they studied for their upcoming Biology exam. “I think the knocking-on-the-rind technique only works for watermelons.”

Ms. Virtue almost knocks over the basket of avocados behind her. Kaetlyn’s arm instinctively reaches out to steady the startled teacher, but Ms. Virtue’s hands slam onto the stack of cantaloupes instead. 

“Oh!” Ms. Virtue exclaims, and there’s a moment where she clearly recognizes Kaetlyn, but looks like maybe she can’t quite pinpoint what the girl’s name is. 

Kaetlyn wonders if she ought to apologize for approaching Ms. Virtue instead of skittling away the instant she spotted her. Ms. Virtue can be an open book sometimes, and it’s pretty obvious that she wasn’t expecting to run into a student at a grocery store in the smack dab middle of Orchard, of all places. 

No housewife would go grocery shopping for their family of four in Ion, after all. 

Ms. Virtue frowns at the cantaloupes. “You know what?” she sighs, her voice switching to that default, slightly more dramatic tone that all teachers seem to possess. “I think I’ll just get canned peaches.” 

Not that she didn’t before, but after that day, Kaetlyn approves of Mr. Moir’s blatantly obvious crush on Ms. Virtue.

Over the next couple of months, Kaetlyn winds up in Orchard at least half-an-hour early more often than she’d like to, and it almost becomes a habit of hers, running down to the basement of Ion and wandering around the imported goods section to admire all of the organic, animal-shaped biscuits and to see if she might run into her coach’s crush again. She does, sure enough: once in the dairy section, where Ms. Virtue is reading the nutrition label of a cup of yogurt; another time in the bakery aisle with three dozen muffins in her cart (they look suspiciously similar to the one Mr. Moir shares with his students the next day); and a third time in the cereal aisle when Kaetlyn has to stop herself from seizing the very healthy but also absolutely _disgusting_ box of oatmeal the teacher is about to put into her cart. 

The fourth time Kaetlyn ends up in the supermarket the same time as Ms. Virtue, it’s the teacher that sneaks up on the student. 

“You’re probably not going to want to get that one,” Kaetlyn hears Ms. Virtue say over her shoulder as the teen inspects the colorful bottles of Breezer. 

Kaetlyn yelps. She’s an athlete, and yes, she is very well aware that some people think she parties all night long and has had one-night-stands with half of the high school, but Kaetlyn has never had a sip of alcohol, save for that one sip of wine her dad let her have on the night of Natasha’s graduation, and she isn’t eager enough to try it that she’ll break the law and disappoint her parents to get a hold of it. The colorful liquids caught her attention, that’s all. 

Ms. Virtue laughs, looking more amused than anything else. “Trust me. Grapefruit Ruby isn’t a flavour you want to get. Tastes pretty bad alone.” Kaetlyn blinks as Ms. Virtue scans the other bottles on the shelf. “I guess Peach is alright,” she hums. “Or Bursting Blueberry. That’s a fun one.” 

Kaetlyn fidgets with her necklace. She supposes this is about the time when her throat and mouth should cooperate with her and tell Ms. Virtue that she was not planning on purchasing or drinking any of these alcoholic beverages. But instead, Kaetlyn finds herself staring at the ground, her face flushing. Whether it’s of guilt or embarrassment, she can’t tell. 

“But, you know what my favorite drink is?” Ms. Virtue spins around and reaches into her shopping cart. She pulls out a packet of Milo. It’s the 3in1 Easy Cool -- the one that Kaetlyn has seen Mr. Moir make with such care that she thought that he was cooking up a mini chemistry experiment in his mug. 

“ _This_ ,” Ms. Virtue says. “It tastes heavenly.” She holds it out, and Kaetlyn sheepishly reaches out to grab it, but not before Ms. Virtue snaps her arm back. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No,” Kaetlyn mumbles. 

Satisfied with Kaetlyn’s answer, Ms. Virtue places the green packet in Kaetlyn’s hand. “Cheaper and tastier than alcohol. Plus, they’re always using athletes to advertise it, so you know…. lessens the guilt a bit.” She winks. 

“Um… thank you, Ms. Virtue.”

“No worries. I would’ve spent half an hour knocking on cantaloupes had you not come to save me that day, so…” she laughs, shaking her head lightly at the memory. “Have a nice weekend, Katie.” 

Ms. Virtue’s cart makes an awful screeching noise as she steers it away. “It’s Kaetlyn,” Kaetlyn mutters under her breath. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Mr. Moir, the P.E. Teacher_ **

Kaetlyn has known the Michaud family her entire life. They live in that pale blue house along the main road -- the one that the school buses line up in front of to get into the campus -- and have three kids: two daughters that were already in high school when Kaetlyn was still in elementary school and a son that is a year younger than her.

Trennt, the youngest of the Michaud children, probably knew Natasha better than he did Kaetlyn, thanks to the fact that Natasha used to walk him to school and back since he was a tiny Kindergartener. Even after he was old enough to make the seven minute walk, Trennt seemed to wait till Natasha looked through the gates of his house out of habit to come running out of his house. So really, it’s not unreasonable that Kaetlyn grew to assume that the kid had a crush on her older sister. 

“ _Really_?” Trennt laughs when she tells him this years later. They’re at FairPrice, strolling through the aisles hand-in-hand, he to get ropes for the camping trip he’s taking with his family over the holidays and she just to spend a little more time with her boyfriend before his family whisks him away to the other side of the world. 

Oh and to buy whipped cream for her ice cream, of course. Can’t forget that.

“You really had no idea I had a crush on you?” Trennt asks again.

“Yep,” she nods, breaking the word into two syllables and popping the p. 

“Even after Natasha graduated? You didn’t think it was weird that I kept waiting for you so that we could walk to school together?” 

Kaetlyn shrugs. “How was I supposed to know? You didn’t say anything.”

Trennt chuckles and pulls her into his side. “Pardon me for waiting till I no longer looked like a ten-year-old to ask you out.”

Kaetlyn rolls her eyes. Trennt isn’t _that_ much younger than her. Half the time, she forgets about their age difference. He’s always been a pretty mature guy, and hanging out in the locker rooms with upperclassmen since his freshman year had rubbed off on him; he could hint at some pretty wild and inappropriate innuendos when he wanted to. 

She stares as he compares ropes; they all look the same to her, but she hums and nods like she completely understands what he’s talking about. He reacts with the same level of enthusiasm as she babbles on and on about the differed whipped cream options she has to choose from. 

They’re hurrying towards the check-out counter when Kaetlyn suddenly realizes that Trennt is no longer trailing closely behind her. She spins around to find him gesturing for her to come over whilst holding up an eye mask. He’d told her about them a couple of days ago, when she complained that she kept waking up in the middle of the night and barely felt like she got any sleep at all. Supposedly, the sensation of pure darkness produced melatonin, the sleep chemical.

He’s such a biology nerd and is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he explains all of this to her. For a piece of cloth that covers your eyes, there sure are a lot of color options to choose from. Some even have cute characters drawn on them, and the two have a blast placing them over their eyes and laughing at just how ridiculous they’re being. 

Kaetlyn has finally come to the conclusion that she’s best off getting the black one when she hears a tentative “Um…” from behind her. Standing there is Mr. Moir--or just Coach, as she calls him 98% of the time. His arms are smushing the loaf of bread he’s got, and for some reason, he looks absolutely scandalized. Kaetlyn watches as Mr. Moir’s eyes dart from the whipped cream to the eye mask to the rope then blink at the two teenagers before repeating and…

_Oh._

She wants to disappear. She wants the ground to open up and swallow her whole, or for some kind stranger to throw an invisibility cloak over her, because the last thing she needs is for her coach, whom she has no choice but to see for three hours every other day, to think that she and the captain of the basketball team are going to be using _this_ and _that_ and _that_ to…

She would like to cease existing, please and thank you.

“M--make sure...” Mr. Moir takes a shuddery breath before spitting out “condoms.” He then spins around and walks away from them, each step broken down into three sub-steps: heel first, then ball of foot, then toes. It feels like an eternity before he’s gone. Kaetlyn sincerely hopes he went straight for the cash register. The last thing that needs to happen is for them to be standing in line together near the place where an abundance of condoms are put on display. 

The rope starts sliding off of Trennt’s shoulder. He shoves it back up. “What does whipped cream have anything to do with sex?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this little one-shot. Please feel free to leave a comment below or swing by my [tumblr](https://philosophronia.tumblr.com/) and shoot me a message.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you all have a wonderful week ahead!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who made it till the end of the story :) Please feel free to leave any comments down below. You can also shoot me a message on [tumblr](https://philosophronia.tumblr.com/) if you wish to do so. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!


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